Black and gnawing it sat just out of range. Peripherally intangible but present none-the-less it was the hole where her heart should have been. There was no longer a tingling.. no longer a faint buzz to remind her that emotion had ever really existed. It was numb now, dead to all who dared look. And with it, probably the best parts of her. It was strange that she could be consciously aware it was gone and yet still feel nothing. When they chose to rear themselves, the memories of what cut it out effectively ending anything and everything she was could be a torrential downpour when they started. Much easier to wall it up, block it off and not give a flying frak one way or the other. What had possessed her to enter a tournament? One that essentially put her in the middle of a royal mess? Cussing under her breath she made her to the theatre. Soft and constant, it was raining in malas. Grey was an unchanging color here. In that it mimicked her mood hiding it within its folds, clasping it tightly as its own. Lifting her head up so that she was actually looking where she was headed rather than the ground her black leather boots trod on, she spotted the telepad and stepped on. Immediately she was above the Rose.. above the fort... and staring at an Auburn haired figure gingerly caressing tiny red mushrooms. "Ceza?" arching her brow, she pulled off her gloves and strode toward her. Letting go of the plush tops she rose. Cezanne turned round and met Paytience with warm smile. "Paytience." Her tone was kind and hid most of the surprise of seeing the wayward girl. "I assumed you'd be downstairs." Paytience had no such tact in hiding her own emotions within her tone and came off stunned and disappointed at not finding herself completely alone. She shouldn't have been, it was after all Cezanne's Theatre and one which frequently saw visitors. Letting her gaze stray to where Ceza had been stooped a moment ago, her dark eyes rested on the circle. How long had it been since they had moved within it and spoken the words? How long had it been since pieces of their souls were layed bare to each others eyes and left for observation? Critical and biting they were not. Instead a silence of admission to those which could not be spoken remained.